Futile
by aintsettlin
Summary: Takes place after 10x12 but before 10x13. One-shot.


The wedding ceremony must have started, and perhaps ended, a few hours ago. Yet here I am, sitting in a moderately lit x-ray room, wasting away my time like I have an endless amount to give. I haven't looked at my phone since earlier in the night. I haven't left this room since before the sun went down. Instead, I'm focusing all my thoughts and energy on my paperwork. I need to keep my mind going, because if I stop it, for even one single moment, I know exactly where my thoughts will lead. The woman at that wedding party, the woman who I just know hasn't even thought of me for days, has all but consumed my mind. It's nothing new. So rather than ponder what she may be doing right now, what she might be thinking or experiencing, I decide to lose myself in page after page of patient histories, detailed exam results, and anything else that distinctly does not have the name _Arizona Robbins_ anywhere near it.

Although, life does have an interesting way of shaking things up, doesn't it? When I hear the wooden door to the room open, I find myself sitting on top of a desk, my feet resting on the wheeled chair in front of me. I have a stack of papers in my lap, a pen in my hand. I don't really know why I felt the need to sit on top of the desk rather than at it, but either way, here I am. I look up at the interruption and it takes a mere second for my eyes to focus on the picturesque woman who's just walked through the threshold.

Of course it's her. It's always her.

"Oh," she starts and stops, upon seeing my form in the dark room. "I'm sorry, I didn't know-" But I don't let her finish her sentence. Without really realizing it, words fly from my mouth in a heartbeat.

"My god," I start, my eyes immediately roaming down her body, covered in a light pink dress, a dark jacket covering her arms and shoulders. "You're…" I begin, and pause again, my brain suddenly reminding me of everything that went down between us, how foolish it is for me to compliment this woman after all that's been said and done. Nonetheless, I do complete my statement, with a slight shake of my head. "Ridiculously beautiful," I finish.

I drop my gaze and close my eyes for the briefest of seconds. I can't keep seeing her like this, and throwing compliments at her like it's nothing. It's not nothing. It's wasted. She doesn't care. She doesn't want to hear the words that fall from my lips. She's tossed me to the side, and I've been working so hard at trying to accept that. So I can't keep doing this.

I grip the pen in my hand a little tighter, and I bring the desk chair in closer with my legs, subconsciously protecting myself from whatever inadvertent damage this woman is about to inflict upon me. It's not that she means to hurt me, I understand that. But no matter what, she does. Whether she smiles in my direction, or scowls, she never fails to cause me pain. The fact of the matter is, everything this woman does affects me in one way or another, because I know that I can never have her. She's off limits, in so many ways.

"Thank you," she whispers hesitantly, in response to my pointless comment. "Although, I don't know if that was a compliment or an insult."

Her voice wavers and fades and I refuse to look up.

"Does it matter?" I ask, not expecting, or even wanting, a response.

I hear her sigh and then I listen as she walks to the opposite side of the room, to a filing cabinet. I vaguely take in the sound of a few drawers opening and closing as she rifles through the papers within. Eventually, I realize that she's closed the drawers, a file in her hand, and she's decided to lean back on the piece of furniture. She's peering at me. I can feel her stare. Still, I don't look up.

"Leah, I never meant to hurt you," she says. I practically scoff. My eyes roll and I shake my head, continuing to look down at the pages resting on my thighs. I don't respond. "I mean it. It was never my intention to hurt you, you know, when we started… this."

"This?" I finally look up, and seeing her gorgeous blue eyes starts a fire within me. I don't know if it's a fire of arousal, or anger, but it's definitely something. "When we started 'this'? You don't even have a name for it, do you?" I pause, giving her a chance to respond. She remains silent. For the third time in such a short time frame, I find myself shaking my head yet again as I look away. This woman is exhausting. But hell, I've known that from the start, haven't I?

"I don't know what you want me to say, okay? I'm just- I'm really sorry," her voice is louder than before, but still soft. From the corner of my eye, I watch as she goes to leave the room. I don't know what comes over me, but suddenly, my fingers are tingling and my spare hand seems to form a fist.

"Tell me, Arizona, tell me how to move on from you!" My voice is no longer calm. She'd opened the door an inch or so, but when I raised my voice, she stilled her movements. "Because I'm really failing here! I try and I try and I try, and then you walk in here in the middle of the god damn night, dressed like a fucking goddess, and all you have to say to me is 'I'm sorry.' So please," I take a breath. "Just tell me how to get over you already."

I watch as she inhales and then slowly closes the door. She turns and faces me. We're quite a distance apart, but I can feel the heat from her gaze alone. She doesn't look impressed.

"You want _me_ to tell _you_ how to move on? How to 'get over it'? How interesting." Suddenly, I swear the temperature in the room rises as I notice her eyes drift down from my face to my body. Oh how long it's been since I've seen her admire me. Now, she barely pays me any attention in the hospital halls, in the OR's. Instead, she pays attention to a different woman, the mother of her child. "I wish I could tell you, Leah, but I don't have the answer."

She takes a step forward.

"Because I'm having the same damn problem."

She takes another step, more determined this time, and my breath hitches.

"Do you think you're the only one struggling with this?"

Yet again, another step, and then another. She's closing in on me fast.

"Do you think you're the only one wishing to 'move on'?"

And shit, there she is, right in front of me. The only thing in between us is the nimble black chair that my feet are resting on.

"I want to _hate_ you. Don't you get it? If only I could hate you, then maybe, just maybe, I would be able to love my wife again."

I'm speechless as I watch her eyes make their way back to mine. Her hands are now gripping the top of the chair. I don't dare look away from her blue irises, but I know that if I were to glance at her hands, I would see the whiteness in her fingertips. She's angry; it's coming off her in waves. But she's a calm type of angry, the kind that I've found intimidating on more than one occasion.

"I want to remember what it feels like to be loved by my wife, and to love her in return. I want to remember what it feels like to desire her. I want to remember what it feels like to be desired by her, for who I am, not for who she wants me to be. But I can't! I can't remember any of it. Do you want to know what I remember instead?" She asks me hypothetically, her eyes squinting momentarily. "I remember you."

I couldn't utter a word in response even if I knew what to say. I merely watch her as she watches me.

Her gaze drops to my lips, and I don't fail to notice. And then, she does something I never would have expected. In a sudden burst of movement, she rips the wheeled chair from beneath my feet and shoves it to the side of the room. My legs drop and the sound of the wheels rolling against the tiled floor almost echoes in my ears. She steps in close to me. She's anything but hesitant as she silently removes the paperwork and pen from my hands. Once she places them on either side of me, she doesn't even pause as she slides her hands onto my knees, up my thighs, and pushes them apart. She moves forward and allows my legs to rest on her hips. We're mere inches from one another. I can smell her. I take in the scent of her perfume, her intoxicating skin and hair. It always amazes me how good this woman can smell, because until her, I didn't know a person could smell so unbelievably inviting.

"I remember so many things about you," she whispers. This time, I can feel the heat of her breath hit me. I'd like to say that I'd forgotten how good it felt to have her this close, but who am I kidding? I never forgot. I could never.

She brings her hand up and pushes a stray piece of hair behind my ear. After doing so, she trails the tip of her fingers down my neck. Goose bumps erupt along my skin and I almost shiver. My eyes close and damn it, I feel her move in even closer.

"You see, I don't want to remember you. I want to forget everything about you, so that I can fix things with my wife. You know, my wife, the one who forgave me and invited me back home," she continues, certainly not expecting a response from me, and I refuse to open my eyes. I don't want to see her this close to me, this wrapped up in me, even if she is talking about her spouse. I know that one look at her flawless features, so near to my body, would just be the death of me. That's the kind of power she has. I both love and hate it.

"Leah," she whispers. I don't do or say anything. "Leah, look at me."

Damn it, I don't want to! So I shake my head in a silent 'no.'

"Yes. Open your eyes." She cups my face with her warm palm and I release a breath that I didn't quite know I'd been holding. "Please."

And who the hell am I to ever say no to this woman? So, needless to say, I do as she asks. Our eyes connect and I feel my heart break at her expression. She's lost all signs of anger. Rather, she appears disoriented and confused.

"I don't know how to forget you. I want to, I really do, but then I see you here, almost every day. And you just look so…" Her brow furrows as she tries to come up with the right word. "Lonely. You look lonely, like me."

I don't understand what's happened here between us in the last few moments. We've gone from polite silence, to awkwardness, to anger, and now we've landed on something akin to sadness. I hate seeing her sad. If there were one thing that could hurt me above all else, it would be seeing this woman look sad on a daily basis. I never want that.

Finally, surprisingly, I find my voice.

"You shouldn't be lonely, Arizona. You have Callie." I manage to clear my throat in an attempt to sound more composed. "You shouldn't be here with me."

I've moved both of my hands to rest on either side of my legs, my fingers gripping the edge of the desk.

"You're right," she begins. "I shouldn't be here. But I am." I feel her grip my neck with her dominant hand and suddenly she grabs my upper thigh with her other. I can't help the small gasp that leaves my lips. "Tell me you don't want me here."

"Arizona," I begin, my eyes drifting closed. "You have a _wife_."

"I know! I know I do." She moves her left hand down to my waist and pulls me into her. "But she makes me feel like I'm not good enough, like I need to be fixed. And you…" She brings her lips up and whispers hotly into my ear. "You want me. You want all of me. I can tell. Don't pretend it's not true."

Completely undone by the small amount of heat from her mouth against my skin, I drop my neck back and savor the sensation. She doesn't miss a beat. In one second, her lips connect with my neck in a seductive, open-mouthed kiss. It's been days, maybe even weeks, since she's laid such an erotic kiss upon my body. I'm overcome with an intense need to cling to her, to grab her body and let both of our inner desires take hold. She wants me, simply because of how much I want her. It might not be right, or even very sane, but we both know it's the truth.

I don't know exactly when I decide to give in to her, but there was never any real doubt, was there? Where this woman is concerned, I'm weak. Whatever she wants, she gets. And as long as I have any remote chance to be close to her, I'll never fail to grasp at it.

Upon feeling her hot tongue connect with the sensitive skin under my ear, I release a frantic whimper. And finally, I stop resisting. I wrap my legs around her waist in record time. She moans in response. I hook my ankles over one another and drag her into me. My hands fly from the edge of the desk and quickly rid her shoulders of that godforsaken jacket. I tangle my fingers in her hair and suddenly jerk her head back, forcing her to look at me. She releases a small groan before allowing ours eyes to connect.

I want to say something, anything, but the words evade me. Instead, I stare into the blue of her eyes for as long as I can take it, until eventually I collide our mouths together in the most intimate, frenzied way. My hands begin to caress every inch and curve of her body and I feel her do the same to me. If I thought the room was warm before, it's scolding now.

Her hands make their way under my lab coat and she copies my earlier actions of removing the garment from my body. I love this, this yearning in her to remove my clothes. I have the same hunger for her. Truth be told, this hunger was always there between us. At least, it was always there once she knew my intentions. I hate to admit that she's only ever been with me because she's needed to feel wanted, to feel craved and desired, but I know it's the absolute truth. It's something she needs in a partner, in a lover. And I've definitely offered her that.

This woman is everything I've ever wanted and so much more. My need to feel her and be near her in every sense of the word is extremely obvious. She needs that, more than anything. Maybe her self-esteem was lowered since that plane crash, or maybe something else changed within her, but I know that until Callie can show her how much she wants her for exactly who she is, then Arizona will never be satisfied with what they have. Instead, she'll come running to me in the dark, in the night, hidden behind closed doors. Because the truth has been there since the night I hit on her at Joe's bar: she needs to be encompassed by the intense lust, and perhaps even love, of someone who cares for her unconditionally. One day, her wife may be able to provide that, but lucky for me, today is not that day. And hell, with the sound of Arizona gasping in my ear and the feeling of her body grinding against mine, I have to admit… I couldn't be happier with that fact.


End file.
